Solutions in the Night
by aquamarinetiger98
Summary: Arthur has resolved to stay sober this year on the fourth of July. Francis shows up to comfort him, but finds him locked in his room. He calls in the only person he knows that can solve the issue. And that certain person does it by climbing up a trellis and breaking open the window. Rated T for language - USUK - One-shot - Extremely Mild Yaoi


My very first one-shot. I did this as a prompt requested on Tumblr so that I could get my writing flow back. This isn't the greatest, but I tried my hardest to make it a good one and stand out a little from all those fourth of July fics that I know will be flooding this place on The Day. So please enjoy and R&R!

Warning: Strong use of profanity, Mild violence, and extremely light yaoi.

**Solutions in the Night**

* * *

It was a cool evening on the fourth of July. Night was coming, the stars appeared, twinkling with merriment, a nightingale cooed sweetly in the distance. Almost everything seemed at peace.

That is, _almost_ everything.

England was sitting in bed feeling anything but peace. In fact, he was the very opposite. He was fully clothed, wearing a button-down shirt and pants, even his socks were still on. His hands hung listlessly at his sides as he stared at the sheets.

Blood stained them. Fresh crimson flowers that bloomed around where he sat upright.

He had been coughing blood again. He had been coughing blood every year and this one was no different. Dammit he'd even tried to stay sober this year and _not_ turn into a blabbering drunk mess. Apparently that didn't prevent him from spewing out the stupid red liquid every time he was reminded of why this day was so painful.

At least it wasn't raining.

Maybe it was a bad idea to stay sober this year. Arthur already was beginning to regret his decision. There was no alcohol to meddle with his mind, leaving him with nothing but his clear-and unwelcome-gloomy thoughts.

Arthur leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes. Perhaps he'd be able to sleep the rest of the night away and forget about the whole blasted ordeal.

_knock knock_

No such luck.

Green eyes flew open in annoyance. Who could it be? Coming to his room in the middle of the night? _Tonight_ of all nights?

"_Angleterre_ I know zat you are in zere."

Splendid. The bloody frog has arrived. Arthur didn't need to guess what he showed up for had to do with a certain American idiot.

The doorknob rattled and a faint smirk crossed Arthur's face. He had locked the door. It was very rare that some nation didn't go looking for him on this day, either to soothe him, quench their own curiosity, and sometimes there would be a foolish country or two that would decide to joke around with him.

Instead of stomping to the door, slamming it open, grabbing the French wanker by the collar and giving him a piece of his mind-which is what he would have normally done, Arthur decided to stay quiet and stay put. No use giving him any sort of satisfactory retort.

He waited. They both waited. He knew Francis was still there because he could _smell_ (yes, smell) the frog breath stinking up his house to high heaven. Wasn't there a way for him to give and leave already?!

Suddenly he heard a tired sigh and almost smiled with relief as he heard footsteps walk away. Finally.

Arthur lay down among the bloodied sheets and closed his eyes. He welcomed sleep like an old friend and finally relaxed.

* * *

Francis Bonnefoy was many things. But he was most definitely not a fool, (As much as Arthur argued) especially when it came to Arthur.

He had made it a sort of duty as 'Big Brother France' to pay a little more attention to Arthur than he usually did around this time of year. There were of course, quite a few exceptions when he did attend Alfred's birthday parties, but that didn't stop him from giving his English brother some sort of reminder that he was there to give him some comfort. (Not that he was the best person to help, because he did help Alfred succeed.) Even if Arthur didn't want it.

This year he decided to call in some help.

He brought out his phone and dialed a number, leisurely leaning against Arthur's front door.

"Hello there! Hero speaking! Who is this?"

The Frenchman could hear sounds of cheering and explosions, most likely fireworks, in the background.

"_Bonjour, mon cher_!"

"Francis! Dude! Whatcha callin' me for?"

"Ah I am at _Angleterre's_ place right now. Ze fool has locked himself in 'is room." He smiled, "...I think you should come here and have a little talk with 'im."

There was a short pause, and then the line crackled with Alfred's clear voice again, this time a little more serious.

"Alright, I'll be there as soon as I can. Thanks for calling dude."

"_Oui_, it is nothing for big brother."

Alfred laughed.

"Of course. Thanks again. Bye!"

* * *

Five hours later, Alfred stood at the door of Arthur's house, panting slightly, having dashed to the closet airport he could find, practically throwing himself on board the fastest plane to the UK, and sprinting at full speed to where he knew Arthur was.

It was fully nighttime now, the windows were closed and the lights were off. One would assume that the house was either abandoned or the owner was not there.

But Alfred knew better.

Francis told him Arthur had locked his bedroom door, his front door wasn't locked, but he wanted to surprise his favorite Brit.

_But how to get to him...?_

He circled the house, surveying possible means to get in.

And that's when he saw it.

The ebony, and very large, iron trellis that ran up to the edge of what he knew was Arthur's bedroom window. Thankfully it was not covered with roses, as Arthur kept his roses in a separate part of his garden. The trellis was swarmed by purple creeping snapdragon, their flowers closed for the night.

Alfred placed a hand on one black bar and began his journey up the trellis.

* * *

Just a few hours after Francis had left, Arthur had woken up from a nightmare. It was full of rain, blood, tears, and the sound of gunshots. After he awoke he launched into another coughing fit. The red flowers were now large scarlet puddles. He could still taste the iron in his mouth, he hadn't bothered to wipe it away, there was no need.

He abandoned the unhelpful comfort of his covers and instead sat cheerlessly at the edge of his bed, gazing into the dark.

For the second time that night, Arthur sensed a disturbance.

Before he could fully collect himself, he heard a grunt from outside, and the sound of his window being thrown open. Turning around, he saw the last thing on Earth he wanted to see on the fourth of July, bathed in moonlight, and standing somewhat proudly, looking at him.

Alfred Fucking Jones.

Immediately Arthur backed away from the American, stumbling weakly against the cool surface of his wall (his condition hadn't improved at all in the past few hours). His emerald eyes were wide with surprise.

"H-Hey Artie." said Alfred, awkwardly breaking the thick silence. He was wearing a simple white T-shirt with the stars and stripes printed on it, blue jeans covered his long legs. Taking a step forward, he laughed nervously. "How about a 'Happy Birthday'?"

He looked around and was met with a very shocking scene.

Blue eyes took in the blood stained sheets, traveled to the pale-faced English nation, the tear stains on his cheeks, his wild hair, and his bloodied lips.

"Arthur." he breathed

He walked over to the Brit, stopping right in front of him. Arthur looked even worse up close. He hadn't seen Arthur with so much blood since the last war they'd fought together. When he coughed on his bicentennial, he never knew that he had been doing it ever year. Without thinking, Alfred put a hand on Arthur's cheek.

The punch that hit him afterwards sent Alfred reeling, almost tripping onto the bed. He gave Arthur a shocked look.

"What the hell was that for?!"

"What was that for you say?" Arthur looked Alfred in the eye, green and blue in the night, "That's for coming here you sodding git! Why the bloody hell are you even here, breaking into my house in the middle of the night?!" his voice was hoarse and filled with rage.

"I-I was...trying to make you feel better!"

Arthur could hardly believe what he was hearing.

"...Feel better?" His tone reached a frightening degree, "You came here to make me _feel better_?! Are you mad? You're making everything worse-you _idiot_!

Do you honestly think coming here standing in my room smiling like a fool is going to change anything?"

"Look Arthur, you need to calm the fuck down and get some rest. I know you hate this day, I know it makes you sad...but its been over two hundred years Artie..." Alfred's voice shook, "...why won't you let it go already?" He could feel himself grow more and more frustrated by the moment.

He received a hoarse laugh and a cough in response. Alfred watched Arthur make his way to stand right in front of him, still glaring.

"I _wish_ I could let it go. I wish I could just forget about it all like some tedious chore. But I _can't_ Alfred. It _has_ been over two hundred years and I still can't forget-"

_Wham_

Alfred's punch was a lot stronger, and Arthur crashed into his bed, pale and bloody as his sheets. The American was on top of him and in his face, pinning his wrists down before he could find the strength to get up.

"Piss off Alfred." he growled, struggling to move his arms, to no avail, "I won't listen to what you have to say!"

"No, you listen to me." Those atomic blue eyes narrowed at him, "I don't regret what I did those two-hundred years ago because its what made me who I am today. I'm stronger, a world superpower! Yeah, I've made some pretty bad mistakes too, but don't we all? You...You should be proud of me!"

Arthur thrust his foot upwards and Alfred immediately doubled over in a yell of pain.

"Of course I'm proud of you!" he spat,

He took the chance to give Alfred another punch in the face, nearly knocking off his glasses.

"You've grown so much, gotten so much taller. You fought a war against me and left me in the mud. All these years later you've either ignored me or bothered me until I forgot my own name! All of you are laughing at me, laughing at what an old fool I've become all alone by myself!"

The look in Arthur's eyes were not unlike that of a crazed animal. Alfred could see it. He wasn't thinking coherently at this point. Gently, he gripped Arthur's wrist again, so pale and thin in his own, trembling. He pressed him back down again in the bed. Arthur didn't resist this time. He was crying, saltwater mingling with dried blood.

"Arthur..."

Alfred leaned in close.

"...don't cry."

And then he kissed him.

At first it was a strange kiss. Alfred had done it as a spur-of-the moment course of action (Not something he had exactly planned to do when he came to Arthur's house, but that's besides the point.) so he didn't quite know what to do afterwards. He closed his eyes and let his own mind take over. Arthur's lips were dry, and there was blood on them. Alfred tasted iron, and didn't mind. (He tasted the black tea that Arthur downed like water too, which amused him slightly.) He didn't break away, not even for air. All he wanted to do was continue doing what he had wanted to do for so long.

Arthur had relaxed by now, and the tears had stopped flowing. When Alfred first kissed him, he had been thoroughly shocked of course. He had expected anything but _that_. But Alfred didn't pull away either and it didn't looked like was going to stop and he succumbed to it, closing his own eyes as well. It wasn't long before Alfred took his hands off of Arthur's wrists and hugged him lightly around the waist; smiling softly when he felt a pair of arms on his back.

They stayed that way for another few minutes, lying together in the silvery light and vermilion fabric, their mouths pressed together.

Finally Alfred had to pull away, the way Arthur was panting slightly showed that the action was appreciated in turn. It was a little disappointing, but Alfred hoped that it wouldn't be the last time he would be feeling that way. He looked at Arthur and smiled softly as the Brit's eyes fluttered open.

"You feelin' better now Arthur?"

The smile that he returned was just as soft as Alfred's.

"Yes, thank you."

"Good."

Alfred's smile broadened to a grin and he hugged Arthur a little tighter.

"...I-I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I shouldn't have said those things..."

"It's alright." Alfred put his forehead against Arthur's, "In some ways you're kinda right. I'm sorry about all those jokes I played on you that were unnecessary."

"There were jokes that you played that _were_ necessary?"

"Yes!"

Arthur rolled his eyes, a small laugh escaped his lips.

"You idiot."

"Hmph, you're an idiot too, Artie."

"Tonight I suppose I was a little bit...out of sorts. I always am during this time." Arthur's voice turned quiet, "Thank you for coming."

"You're welcome."

"I...love you Alfred."

"I love ya too Arthur." He grinned, "And thank _you_ for the best birthday present ever."

"That would be...?" The other blonde quirked an eyebrow.

"The kiss of course!"

"Wh-What I...never...!"

Needless to say, that fourth of July ended on a very bright note. The next day resulted in new white sheets, a fixed window and trellis, two very happy nations, a chorus of congratulations from others, and a secret dealing between Francis, Elizaveta, and Kiku about the quality of a few special photographs taken in the moonlight.


End file.
